The Fourth of the Rings
by Incitata
Summary: Join us in a (mostly) harmless jibe at Ms. Mary Sue: One Cliche to fool them all, and we will all despise them."
1. Part i: Beginning

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Authors Note: Please excuse some purposeful purpleness and the bringing together of some of the most horrible plots out there. I love Tolkeins work (the Silmarillion being my favourite) it is not at he who I point my finger of fun.

This is experimental and if it really is so awful tell me and I will gladly take it down. If it amuses tell me also and I will leave it.

Apologies in advance.

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The Fourth of the Rings

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Prologue: 

__

"One cliché to fool them all, and we will all despise them!" as was etched delicately around the edge of the fourth Elvish ring of power in writing only visible from within a large piece of cheese.

  
We are indeed fortunate that it could be wielded only by a quarter Elven/human teenager/more beautiful than Galadriel/more powerful than Sauron original character - surely THAT would never happen in the fandom…

~~~

Words, once clear but now faded from view on the burnished surface of the plain silver band that glinted like dew in the shower of sunlight that dappled the mossy forest floor. 

Forgotten.

For there were four rings preserved by the Elves; the Sapphire, the Adamant and the Red Ring of Fire, whose tales are known. But lost even to the eyes of the wise was Túch-ieze (say it out loud) whose opalescent stone glistened and darkened according to the whim of the one who bore it.

So long since Túch-ieze felt the warmth of life, so long since one – a stranger to Middle Earth, yet of the blood of Elves had trodden this path. But the ring felt a stirring in its etchings as delicate footsteps tripped for the first time in three thousand years beneath the canopy of the forest. The passage of Melian and her maidens did not move it, nor the battle fought when the forest was but a sapling copse. Only the first dancing steps of the one whose red gold hair no doubt tumbled like lava over alabaster shoulders in a very Pre-Raphaelite manner touched Middle Earth for the first time. Suddenly the nose of the mole touched the ring and guided by the Túch-ieze it nudged and nudged until it lay in just the right place at just the right time.

All this would have surprised the girl who awoke on a grassy knoll. Rhiannon Moonstarr found her place of awakening odd and twisted to her knees she breathed deeply of the fresh clear air and goggled as to where the traffic fumes could have vanished…

"…but I was…" she caught sight of a pool and on tentative legs like a new-born gazelle approached the calm still water. Her eyes widened just enough to make her look charmingly astonished but far short of the look that said ohmegoshwheretheheckamI and implied that owner of the eyes was one pretzel short of a deli. Her reflection was a far cry from the girl who had marched down the High Street of Normaltown that morning clad in jeans and a baggy shirt and annoyed because her so called friends laughed at her for reading fantasy novels. "Why…I'm beautiful…" Her eyes flashed from silver to green as a soft sigh of relief escaped her lips. "I could have so easily been raised by goblins…" she muttered, glad to have escaped the plotline that would have had her fight every Elf in Middle Earth until she met Legolas. In an instant her eyes grew bored and changed from green to the blue of a spring morning.

Many metres along the path, the jewel of Túch-ieze changed also…its time had come.

Remembering that she had been halfway through a sentence Rhiannon Moonstarr tossed her curls over her shoulder and smoothed the flimsy gown that she wore for reasons of decency though not practicality. She gazed at her hands, the bitten nails of the morning were transformed into the manicured talons of lunchtime and no longer was her left wrist bound by a plastic Swatch. Now the softest silk and a bracelet of delicate pearls adorned it.

Recovered from the shock of inexplicably flitting from one world and time to another Rhiannon looked around her. From the pool the path led one way and in a short time she was beneath the trees where in the belief that story should have a plot the author had planted the ring.


	2. Part ii: Awakening

Authors Note: I always wondered why these stories were so short – now I know - it's not easy writing drivel:) Of course it's much more fun writing this than doing my work I'm paid to do!

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far

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The Fourth of the Rings: Part ii

Awakening

~~~

Though the canopy rendered the forest a perpetual dusk preventing all but moss of deepest green populating the woodland floor, Rhiannon Moonstarr was drawn to a bright light that shone from between the trees.

Perhaps it was the way of the forest path, perhaps it was the allure of the golden flecks of sunlight that fought through the thick green leaves above that drew her to that unlikely spot. Rhiannon paused to disentangle herself from the creeping bough that seemed to clutch at her gown. With a tug she pulled it free and she tumbled to her knees, grateful for the soft moss that cushioned her palms against the gnarled roots.

Had she possessed a strategically positioned mirror, Rhiannon would have been aware that the shoulder of her diaphanous robe had been torn by those terrible twigs revealing a tantalising glimpse of cleavage open to any elf or man who should wander into that glade and breath the heady air. We are fortunate indeed that no such mirror was available yet she managed admirable poise without its aid.

As she lowered her long thick lashes, Rhiannon´s gaze became fixed upon a flash of silver, bright against the green. Her long fingers reached out, carefully as though to avoid snagging a nail on a root. 

Slowly, inexorably her fingers closed upon it, drawing Túch-ieze from its ancient resting place.

Rhiannon blinked, her eyes melting to an astonished shade of violet and to her utter amazement the heart of the jewel set within the ring that now lay in her open palm deepened to a matching hue.

Feeling the absence of dialogue, Rhiannon parted her sweet lips and muttered the obvious, "A ring?" 

She twisted it round and around in her fingers. It was bright and shiny and as new as any ring of power that might have been dropped by a passing elf, not dark and mud encrusted like any normal ring that had spent millennia in the company of moles and worms.

A dry twing snapped in that exaggerated manner peculiar to dry twigs that exist to provede a warning of the approach of strangers. 

Rhiannon´s eyes darkened to the shade of a storm cloud and if the ring hadn't been grasped so securely in her palm she might have noticed that the Túch-ieze stone was also the colour of a ravens wing in moonlight.

Unarmed and without time to get to her feet in a dignified manner Rhiannon chose to appear helpless and feminine. She tilted up her chin defiantly and the strategic tear in her gown fell to perfect effect.

"Who are you?" she demanded in a voice, quavering, yet indicating no fear yet the only reply that reached her barely pointed ears was that of the summer breeze moving the leaves and furling her tresses like a crimson sail about her brow. Only then did her gaze fall upon the strange company that lurked at the edge of the glade.

"Fair lady," said Aragorn (for it was he), "Why do you lie in this place?" he turned to his companion a little puzzled by the sudden change in his manner of speech.

Rhiannon´s eyes darted energetically between the pair, both tall, both handsome but in such very different ways their appearances so clear and established that she might have been staring at two well-known actors. Breathing deeply, causing her breast to swell, Rhiannon clutched her ring a little more tightly. Her bravado had made an exit with the imagination of the author leaving Rhiannon uncertain how to reply.

Anxiously she worked the ring in her hand and lo, it slipped onto the middle finger of her left hand – a perfect fit. And in that same moment an ancient force was awaken and set upon the lands of Middle Earth - a ripple raged, alliterating its way across the land - a zephyr, small but growing in power as it swept across field and hill. Its effects were many, but the most profound are recorded here.

"I am Rhiannon Moonstarr," she said defiantly tossing her head because the author had once read that one ought to combine speech with actions to make the scene more alive. But the words she spoke were not in English nor even Westron.

"Lady!" exclaimed Legolas agog that she spoke in clearest Sindarin…

Aragorn too was confused but his eyes were fixed upon the helpless figure on the ground – beside her all others were a pale light, even…

Not far away beyond the forest edge Frodo awoke and felt the urge to venture into the forest, though he saw that Aragorn and Legolas were missing the one ring felt light as if drawn to a force more powerful … 

But further away mysteries happened too…

In Imladris Arwen stirred amidst an uneasy sleep…

A shoot broke through the scorched earth around Isengard…

The ancient beeches of Lorien shuddered as if woken from a centuries sleep…

On the plains, the roaming herds of Rohan stood still...

And far across middle earth, atop the tower of Barad-Dûr, the eye of Sauron widened as if surprised and for the first time and the last, appeared to flinch.


	3. Part iii: Fellowship

Authors Note: I never thought that I would write a fic with such tiny chapters…believe me, this has taken my average chapter length down from 10,000 words to just over 9,000 (it makes me very sad *sniff, sniff*).

To clarify – I detest Mary Sues, I find them tedious and anyone over the age of ten who writes them ought to be $^&$££"£%&*(*^^ (please substitute your own particular form of torture). 

I've done a bit of research and found quite a few clichés that tend to emerge in LoTR fics – no offence to anyone who likes particular pairings of the none Mary-Sue type, be they slash or het.

And for the record, I don't have a thing for any actors/characters/species of Middle Earth – those that appear here are simply those I have come across in my flit through the fandom.

~~~

The Fourth of the Rings: Part iii

Fellowship

~~~

The Elf, his hair falling in waves about his chiselled jaw dashed forward and grasped Rhiannon's slender wrist. Her eye caught his but her attention was truly fixed on the other man who lurked near the trees – indeed as she regained her feet their eyes barely parted. His were blue and sparkling like the ocean on a calm summer day, cool, deep and alluring, Rhiannon's own were the brightest green flecked gold. Nudging Legolas aside Aragorn took Rhiannon's arm. 

But it was not his gaze that held Rhiannons so securely. In the dappled light he stood, toes curling into the grassy earth as he marvelled at the beauty before him. Never before had Frodo seen such poise, such grace. Oh, however could he survive knowing that a thing like she as near oblivious of him.

With a light but firm grip, Rhiannon lifted Aragorn's hand from her arm. 

"Thank you," she said expecting her second lapse into unexpected Sindarin yet this time she spoke in an ancient dialect of Quenya. Aragorn and Legolas looked uncertainly at one another and though they had never before shown any sign that they understood the language they know that those words (when in that dialect) were exactly the same as a terrible and ancient command in the black tongue of Mordor (another language, which until this moment they had demonstrated no knowledge of). 

Beneath Barad-Dûr something (even more evil than usual) stirred.

As if connected Aragorn and Legolas turned and watched Rhiannon cross the glade, their heads swaying from side to side in time with her hips undulating as smoothly as the ebb and flow of the tide. Legolas stumbled in his effort to reach her but Aragorn grabbed his arm.

"Forget it, Legolas," he said wistfully as his own hopes regarding Rhiannon dried out, crumbled and were blown away in the wind. He nodded toward the trees, "looks like she's one of those that fancies Hobbits," he remarked in modern day English, "No hope for us."

"Yup," agreed Legolas, with a distinct New York twang, "We should count ourselves lucky that Gimli is not around. Imagine if she'd like, fancied dwarves."

"Come to think of it I haven't seen Boromir either."

"Y'know y'll not be seeing Arwen for a while, Aragorn" Legolas commented suggestively and in the same moment a new plotline bursting with romance was created with the simultaneous suicide of 700,000 fangirls who suddenly realised that he would never marry them.

~~~

Frodo blinked, and blinked again. She was coming closer, a vision. Was it true that stunning women were attracted to short hairy men or had she heard that she had just inherited Bilbo's millions? 

Ah, he understood as her flimsy robes wafted and her bosom rose and fell with each step. She must be an Elf – of Elvish descent and there was an aura of great power about her (Ring Bearers just know things like that). Frodo's hand clutched his ring, it was singing to him, urging him to give it to her.

Each step was lighter than the last and by the time she reached him Rhiannon was almost walking on air, indeed the author had just decided to give her the gift of flight so she was in fact hovering an inch above the ground radiant and glorious and with her own ring securely and symbolically on the ring finger of her left hand.

"Hello," stuttered Frodo agog at the sight.


End file.
